


If Only

by ilostmyshoe6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilostmyshoe6/pseuds/ilostmyshoe6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after "Do You Believe in Miracles?" Sam and Cas start to accept demon!Dean after Dean gains control over the demon within. But what happens when that control starts to slip, and Dean's eyes are more black than green now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam took another swig of whiskey. He had long since given up using an actual shot glass and instead just drank from the almost empty bottle. Sam could feel his eyes getting heavy. There wouldn’t be enough whiskey in the world for Sam to forget what he was feeling. I’m proud of us. Dean’s words echoed in his head and the bottle fell from Sam’s lips and onto the table, spilling the remaining drops. In a sudden fit of rage, Sam hit the bottle off the table with his forearm and pressed his palms against his head, willing the memories of the recent events to leave his mind. Dean couldn’t be dead. Dean, who survived hell and purgatory and everything else in between, couldn’t have been foiled by just a blade thrust into his heart. It just didn’t feel real to Sam. However, he did feel the weight of the darkness that he sat in, felt the cold and empty walls of the Bunker. Sam clenched his hands and pressed them even harder into his skull. He tried to control his emotions but it was just too much at once. Too much anger, guilt, and sadness. If only Sam had predicted that Dean was going to knock him out. If only Sam had just run a little bit faster to Metatron. If only he had forgiven Dean before the last breath had escaped him. If only.  
Dean couldn’t die. Sam couldn’t let this happen again, couldn’t let down his big brother for yet another time. That was what he confessed in the church after all. That he was sorry that he had let his brother down so many times. And yet here Sam was again, letting his brother down, after his brother had spent his entire life protecting him. Sam pushed himself out of his chair and away from the table. He kicked aside the fallen whiskey bottle and went to the dungeon, swaying slightly as he moved. Sam, in a mad determination, started gathering ingredients and after several minutes, had everything he needed to summon a demon, or, in this case, the King of Hell himself. Dean wouldn’t have been in this mess if it weren’t for Crowley. Crowley was the one who had made Dean take on the mark of Cain, who used Dean as a method of killing Abaddon. It was his fault. And he is going to fix it. Sam struck a match, bent to the ground, and dropped it into the bowl, watching as the bowl illuminated the dark dungeon in a fiery light. Sam straightened himself, his eyes looking amongst the shelves in the room. He was expecting to hear “Moose” anytime now, but the silence was deadly. Sam looked down at the summoning ritual that he had made, and knew everything was correct. So then where was Crowley? The blaze started to die down in the bowl as seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. After trying unsuccessfully again, Sam dropped to his knees in defeat, collapsing forward so that his elbows touched the cold, hard ground. Crowley was Sam’s only hope, and now even that had failed. Sam cried out in frustration, and his cries and sobs echoed in the dungeon and lasted into the night until the whiskey finally caught up to him.  
“I know I’m worth the wait, but that’s just pathetic.” Crowley’s sarcastic voice rang in Sam’s ears as he slowly came about. Sam gradually opened his crusted eyes to see a pair of expensive, black leather shoes. He pulled some of his hair out of his mouth and eased himself up to a sitting position. Sam tried to get a sense of where he was and how he got there, and then all at once the memories came rushing back to him. He looked up, saw Crowley’s face, and jumped up. Sam saw the mischievous glint in Crowley’s eyes and punched him in the jaw, the momentum causing Crowley to stumble back and hit his head against one of the shelves.  
“Are moose always this feisty in the morning?” Crowley inquired, rubbing the jawline that Sam had just bruised.  
“Where the hell were you?!” Sam moved towards Crowley again, looking desperately around for a weapon.  
“Easy. I was doing you a favor. You should be hugging me or bowing down at my feet or something. Honestly. This is how I get repaid?” Crowley’s calmness through all of this pissed Sam off even more, and Crowley took a step back precariously.  
Sam had no time for playing games but had to go along with Crowley since he was weaponless. “What are you talking about?” Sam remained a close proximity to Crowley, making sure that he was close enough that he could hit him again if necessary, or even if unnecessary for that matter.  
“Obviously you were summoning me for a trade for your brother’s life. Your soul for his, or whatever you do that manages to keep you boys alive. Well unfortunately for you, I’m not here to make a deal with you Moose. But I am here to tell you that if you weren’t down here wallowing in self-pity and passed out on the floor, you would have already noticed that your dear brother is alive upstairs.” Crowley tilted his chin and raised his eyebrows at Sam. “Well? You’re welcome.”  
Sam stared at Crowley with pure hate in his eyes. “You’re lying,” Sam evenly said, now having a better grip on himself and his emotions.  
“Am I? Go see for yourself,” Crowley retorted, nodding towards the back staircase.  
“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Sam sneered.  
“Don’t worry. I’ll follow you like a puppy if that will help you get your head out of your ass,” Crowley rolled his eyes.  
Sam went over and grabbed Crowley by the arm roughly and forced him forward towards the staircase. They ascended the staircase to Dean’s room, Sam now holding both of Crowley’s arms behind him, stopping only to secure a pair of demon-proofed hand cuffs. When Sam got to Dean’s door he stopped. He didn’t want to open it in fear that Crowley was really lying. He didn’t want another glimmer of hope to be lost once again. Sam shook his head to get rid of those thoughts, took a deep breath to steady himself, and pushed open the door. The bed was empty. Sam walked over to Dean’s bed where Sam had placed his body only to see the dark blood stains on the sheets. Sam’s eyes widen in shock and confusion and turned towards Crowley, who was casually leaning against the door frame.  
Crowley shrugged. “Don’t look at me with that pathetic face. I told you he was alive. You didn’t tell me I had to chain him up here.”  
A noise came from the kitchen. Sam glanced towards the hallway and started to push Crowley away from the door frame. Crowley tried to match Sam’s long strides as Sam rushed to the kitchen.  
“Oh about that whole lying thing,” Crowley started, “there’s something else you should probably know.”  
But Crowley’s words were lost to Sam as he entered the kitchen. Sam stopped suddenly in his tracks. There was Dean, less than twenty feet in front of him making coffee, wearing the familiar plaid shirt he had been in, his back to Sam. Sam’s voice was caught in his throat as he tried to make sense of the situation.  
“Dean?” Sam’s voice came out scratchy as he hesitantly called out to him. Sam could still see the blood stains on Dean’s shirt and neck, but it didn’t matter. He was alive, and it didn’t matter how, just that he was.  
Dean turned around and Sam could see his brother’s face, his green eyes wide and freckles scattering his face. But something was off. The smell of sulfur started to overwhelm Sam’s senses and Sam stood in the kitchen doorway uncertainly, unaware of the full situation. That was until Dean took a step towards Sam. “Sammy?” Dean reached out towards his brother, but as he moved, Dean blinked, and when they reopened, they were black.


	2. Need to Be Killed

Sam gasped and stumbled backwards. Sam blinked his own eyes, making sure that he wasn’t just seeing things. “Dean’s possessed?” Sam choked out the words.  
“Hate to tell you this, honestly, but that’s your brother. A full-fledged demon. He might actually be useful now,” Crowley said from somewhere in the back of the kitchen, but Sam couldn’t process it.  
“No!” Sam screamed, bringing his hands to his head and pushing his hair back flat towards his skull in anger and desperation. He glanced towards Crowley, hoping to see him smirking or any sign to prove that this was a joke. But Crowley remained stoic, and Dean’s eyes remained black.   
Sam felt his throat constricting as he faced Dean once again. He looked into Dean’s eyes, looking for something, anything, that would show a sign of humanity, but there was none, just sockets of darkness. The demon started towards Sam again but Sam quickly stepped back.  
“No! No, you stay away from me! You’re not my brother! You’re a monster!” Sam glanced around the kitchen to see a knife on the counter, lying besides a forgotten, molding sandwich. Sam made a sudden dash to the knife and held it out in front of him, pointing it towards Dean.  
Dean lifted his hands up in surrender. “Woah, Sammy, it’s me. Please. You’ve got to believe me.” Dean’s shoulders sagged and if demons could cry, he would have been.  
“Listen to Squirrel, Moose,” Crowley pointedly said.  
Sam turned on Crowley. “What did you do to him?” Sam’s voice caught at the end, and tears started to form in his eyes.  
“I did nothing. It was the Mark. It never does quite go away, but instead changes people, as you have seen. Now if you excuse me, I’d rather not be a part of your little brotherly moment”.   
Sam started to ask what he meant by that but Crowley had already gone, the hand cuffs clattering to the ground. Sam groaned as he picked up the hand cuffs, realizing that they were not demon proofed as originally thought. Sam straightened back up and turned around, becoming face to face with Dean. Sam lifted the knife for protection once again, despite knowing that since it wasn’t Ruby’s knife, it would not do much damage. Sam moved away from Dean once again, this time putting a table in between them to widen the distance. Once a safe distance away, Sam lowered the knife slowly. He took the opportunity to assess the situation, to fully examine his brother standing on the opposite end of the table. The demon moved exactly like Dean, down to even the smallest actions and his breathing. He looked exactly like him to, with the exception of the black eyes. However, it was at that moment when Dean’s eyes flicked back to the bright green Sam was so used to. With his eyes back to the normal color, it was easy for Sam to forget that his brother was no longer human, and instead just saw him as his older brother once again, who was alive.  
Sam took a shaky breath and started to edge around the table until he stood in front of his brother. “Dean?”  
“Yea, Sam, it’s me.” Sam could see the hurt in Dean’s still green eyes and the surrender in his voice.  
Sam let out a cry and pulled Dean into a hug. “You’re alive.” Sam could still see Metatron sliding his blade so easily into Dean’s chest and hugged him even tighter.  
Sam pulled back from the hug. “Dean, I …,” Sam trailed off as his brother’s eyes turned to black again. Dean could see the fright in Sam’s eyes, and even the sign of hate. Sam was supposed to kill anything with black eyes. Dean had even said so. And now his brother was one. Sam tried to cover up his pause and half-heartedly smiled. But Dean could still see the uncertainty Sam had, and Dean couldn’t blame him. He was a monster after all. And monsters need to be killed.


	3. Running Thin

Dean took a couple steps back away from Sam. He parted his lips and stared at the floor, unable to face Sam and the emotions Sam’s eyes held. “Sam,” Dean started, still directing his gaze towards the floor, “I’m not me. I know I’m a monster.” Sam started to say something but Dean held up his hand. “I said that anything with black eyes needs to be killed. And I meant that”. Dean had lost his humanity, the one thing he prided himself for having. And now he had turned into his worst nightmare. Dean slid his hand into his back pocket where he stored Ruby’s knife before.   
“Dean,” Sam said slowly, eyeing Dean’s pocket nervously, “What are you - ”   
Dean pulled the knife out and held the handle out towards Sam, raising his head. “I know you were thinking it, Sammy. You’ve gotta do this, for me.”  
Sam’s eyes widen and raised his hands, shaking his head and backing away from Dean. “No, Dean, I – I can’t,” Sam stuttered, “I won’t. We’ll fix this, just like we always do.” Dean didn’t respond, but just stood, holding the knife out to Sam. Sam looked at his brother, who would rather die than live a life as a monster. But Sam couldn’t see his brother die, not again, and not by his hands. Sam slowly removed the knife from Dean’s hand and slid it into his own pocket, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Sam still felt unsettled when he saw the darkness of his brother’s eyes, but he couldn’t just abandon him. Dean helped Sam with his addiction to demon blood, and now Sam would help Dean with him having demon blood.   
Dean still looked a little wary, so Sam walked over to him and put one hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re going to be fine, okay?” Sam looked to Dean for confirmation, staring directly into the black abyss of his eyes.   
Dean nodded and sighed. “Okay.” Dean then abruptly looked away and walked toward the coffee he had previously made and leaned against the counter. “Now enough chick flick moments. Let’s get to work.”  
Sam knew that was the most brotherly moment he was going to get, and knew that subject would never be brought up again. Even so, Sam agreed, and headed out to the tables in the Bunker’s entrance to start researching. Dean soon followed with two coffee cups in hand, and placed one on the table in front of Sam. Sam acknowledged his thanks, and noticed that Dean’s eyes had gone back to green for the time being. He wondered if demons could control when their eyes turned black, and Sam added that to the list of questions he had about Dean’s transformations. Dean took a seat opposite of Sam and put his head in his hands, his whole body tense.  
Sam looked up from the book he had pulled off one of the shelves. “You should pray to Cass.”  
Dean’s eyebrows raised. “Yea, that would be a sight. A demon praying to an angel.” He raised his coffee to his lips, shaking his head.  
“He thinks you’re dead, Dean.” Sam’s voice was solemn and stern and tried to catch Dean’s glance.  
Dean wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “If he sees what I’ve become, he’d wish I was,” Dean said pointedly.  
“We can’t ignore Cas forever. He’s our friend.”  
“Sam!” Dean pounded his fists on the table. “We’ll tell him when we figure this out. End of discussion.” And, with that, Sam knew that his brother was the same person he had been with the Mark, only now in demon form. Sam had hoped that Dean’s death had at least made him less angry and upset, but again his hope had been mistaken. Dean pushed himself away from the table and stormed off to his room, hands in fists. Sam sighed and ran his hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair, sinking even deeper into it. This was one of the times Sam couldn’t help but thinking about having a normal life. Normal people don’t have to deal with their brother coming back from the dead nevertheless coming back as a hell-spawn. Knowing those thoughts would do nothing to improve the situation, Sam instead focused on the book open in front of him. The book described the third trial which involved curing a demon. Sam had failed to fully cure Crowley, which was due to the fact that his brother had arrived and would not allow Sam to sacrifice himself. However, the injections of human blood had made an effect on Crowley, and Sam started to wonder if the same would be possible for Dean. Maybe he could close the gates of hell for good while at the same time saving Dean’s humanity. Sam knew Dean would never agree to that, especially since Sam would have to sacrifice his life that Dean went through great lengths to protect. Sam started absentmindedly flipping through the pages, trying to find a plan B. Hopefully, Dean would call Cass and he would know another solution, but lately Sam’s hope was running thin, and it wouldn’t be long until it was gone completely.


	4. Still Be Seen as One

Meanwhile, Dean had slammed his door to his bedroom and started pacing back and forth. He had too many feelings and emotions overwhelming his brain and didn’t know which ones were actually his or which ones were the monster’s. His entire body just felt different. He didn’t feel normal human emotions such as exhaustion or hunger, and when Dean felt hurt or guilty or sad it seemed as if they were just forced out of his mind as if they didn’t matter. What Dean did feel, however, was hatred and anger and revenge. He felt as if he had adrenaline running through his bloodstream permanently. Dean’s entire body was shaking and for a brief moment he felt scared. However, that feeling was pushed out of his mind by the monster within and Dean went to sit on his bed, propping his head up in his hands. He ran his hands over his face as he tried to sort this all out for himself. Dean remembered fighting Metatron, remembered the searing, hot pain of his defeat as the blade slid through his chest in an effortless motion. His memories were fuzzy after that and only briefly remembered Sam struggling to carry him out the door to get help. And then Dean woke up. Crowley was standing at the foot of his bed but Dean hadn’t been paying attention to him. When he opened his eyes, the world seemed to look different, as if he was seeing everything in a filter. It was as if everything in the world seemed negative to him, and Dean was becoming overwhelmed with feelings of anger, revenge, and the urge to kill. Crowley had thought that through, apparently, and when he snapped his fingers, demon-proofed handcuffs bound Dean. Crowley then had told him of what he had become. A gift in Crowley’s eyes, but a monster in Dean’s. Apparently if your last name is Winchester, you can never die when you actually want to. Dean had told Sam that he accepted his death because the mark was turning him into something that he didn’t want to be. And look how well that turned out for Dean.   
Dean shook his head of those thoughts and tried to focus on solutions instead. The most obvious and permanent solution was already denied by Sam, and Dean knew better than to ask again. When Bobby was possessed by a demon, he fought against it and was able to take back control. However, Dean wasn’t just possessed by a demon, he had become one, and therefore could not as easily push out the demon. If he was exercised, Dean as his demon self would still be alive, wandering until he found another meat suit, but his body would collapse. The monster, as terrible as it was, was the only thing keeping his body alive, and Dean wanted to keep his body. On the meantime, while Dean and Sam tried to find a cure, Dean decided he would just have to pretend as if he was human. He would have to fight back in his own way, would have to try to evoke human emotions and to try to retain a grasp on them instead of letting the demon in him push them away. Dean knew Sam wasn’t yet comfortable with this whole demon-eye thing, so Dean would just have to try his best to control it. Maybe if I just act like I’m human, I’ll still be seen as one.   
Dean looked up only when he heard a knock on his door.   
“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounded tentative, still afraid of the demon now occupying his brother’s room. “I’m hitting the sack.” Sam paused, unsure of what else to say. He didn’t even really know why he even stopped by his brother’s room. Neither brother would usually tell the other when they were going to sleep. Maybe Sam was just subconsciously checking to make sure that Dean was still somewhat Dean.  
“Uh, yea. Okay. Night I guess,” Dean replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He heard Sam’s footsteps as he walked away and looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was almost two in the morning. “Right. Demon’s don’t sleep,” Dean muttered to himself, as he answered his question as to why he himself didn’t feel tired. At least Sam had stopped by Dean’s room. Dean hoped that it meant that Sam had gotten over Dean’s abrupt exit hours before. Although, knowing Sam, Dean knew that Sam just wanted to check on him, make sure he didn’t leave. Dean also knew that they would have to rebuild their trust for one another, as Dean’s change had broken down any trust or security that Sam had towards him, which was not a lot to begin with ever since Dean had gotten the Mark.  
Dean got up off his bed and started to pace. He never slept well to begin with, but not sleeping at all just seemed weird to him. He wondered if this was how Sam felt when he was soulless, not being able to sleep or eat despite knowing that it was what he should be doing. Dean, for the first time, didn’t know what to do with himself. He should be sleeping, and, on a normal day, if he couldn’t sleep, he would get coffee or a drink. Both of those options were now out, and Dean added to his frustration when he realized that he wouldn’t be having pie or copious amounts of alcohol in a while. Dean kicked the edge of his bed in lieu of his frustration, and tore his sheets and pillows off his bed, not having a need for them anymore. He stood there amongst the torn sheets and feathers frozen, staring at his complete loss of control scattered around him. Just as Dean started to move, he felt a kind of pull against his body. The feeling became more and more intense until Dean cried out in pain and fell to the ground. He felt as if his body was being pulled in every direction by hooks. Dean closed his eyes and pressed his hands against the hardwood floor, waiting for the pain to pass, until suddenly the floor became soft, and soon Dean was feeling wet grass beneath his hands and the pain had subsided. He raised his head slightly and saw that he was now in an old, wooden shed where the floor had almost completely deteriorated. Dean stood up and tried to move towards the door, only to hit an invisible barrier. Dean clenched his teeth together and looked at the ceiling where a bright red devil’s trap was painted, preventing Dean from leaving. Someone had summoned him.


	5. Human Reaction

“Hello squirrel.” Dean reluctantly turned around to see Crowley’s pointed face, his hands buried in his long, black overcoat.  
“Crowley, you son of a bitch!” Dean yelled out and tried moving toward Crowley, only to hit the parameters of the demon trap again. Dean curled his fists at his side in anger due to his frustration.   
“Now, now,” Crowley purred. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, cracking the ceiling in a loud tremor. Now that the demon trap was broken, Dean lunged at Crowley, becoming more aware of the enhanced speed and power he now possessed. Crowley, unprepared for Dean’s sudden move, was knocked off his feet and hit the far wall of the barn, shaking the entire building.  
“Feisty, aren’t we,” Crowley said, slowly picking himself off the ground. “I’m liking the new powers though,” Crowley added with a wink.  
Dean ignored him and walked closer to where Crowley stood, cornering him against the wall. Dean’s eyes flashed black. “Fix me,” he growled, and Dean was now so close to Crowley that the stench of sulfur was becoming almost unbearable to him.  
“If you would just stop for one minute and listen,” Crowley began, skillfully maneuvering his way around Dean and back into the middle of the barn, “You would know that I can’t. The Mark holds more power than even me.”  
“Then why the hell did you summon me?” Dean demanded.  
“To help you, of course, you moron. Team Free Will and all that, right?” Crowley started to pace back and forth, his footsteps kicking up dirt as he walked.  
“Right. So I’m to believe that the King of Hell just wants to help me out of the goodness of his heart, is that it?” Dean scoffed, staring doubtfully at Crowley.  
“I’ve always been on the Winchesters’ side,” Crowley said. Dean raised his eyebrows and stared at him pointedly. “Okay, fair enough. But you’re one of us now, and I may have indirectly had a role in this whole affair, and some of the human juice flowing through me is telling me to help you.”  
Dean stared long and hard at Crowley, trying to read him to determine whether he was telling the truth or not. After a while Dean spoke up. “Help me with what?”  
Crowley smiled. “Help you control that adrenaline pumping through your veins, that urge to kill and attack anything in your sight. Help you act as if you were still a part of humanity.”  
Dean had to admit that having control of this demon inside him was needed. He couldn’t continue living in the Bunker with Sam if he had the urge to lash out every time they got into an argument, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to think about calling Cass. Dean sighed in resignation. “What do I have to do?”  
For the next couple hours, Crowley pushed Dean to the point of mental and physical exhaustion. He felt as if his brain was being poked and prodded with a hundred different kinds of sticks. Crowley needed Dean to be angry in order to test Dean’s control, and therefore had no problem with summoning other demons, dispensable ones in Crowley’s eyes, to continuously beat Dean. The process would be the same every time. The demons would advance on Dean, five at a time, and would start attacking him. Midway through the attack, a table would suddenly appear, stocked with everything needed to strike a demon including holy water, salt, and knives similar to Ruby’s. The first ten demons Dean had no trouble with. As soon as the first five started attacking him, the Mark, and thus the demon side of Dean, took over. Dean forced holy water laced with salt down the demons’ throats before slicing them, and the supposed lessons turned into a torturous manslaughter. Each round Crowley watched from the sidelines, yelling different words at Dean, hoping each would cause a human reaction within Dean which would cause him to stop. Crowley started off with basic words and phrases such as “pie”, “bacon cheeseburger” and “porn”, but the demon in Dean didn’t react to either as he no longer wanted any of those. As Crowley saw the first five demons lying soaked in a pool of black blood, he changed his words he shouted at Dean for the next round. Dean thrust a blade into the first demon as Crowley called out his next batch of words including “John”, “Mary”, “family”, “hope”, and “survival”. But none even caused Dean’s black eyes to blink. He continued to push back the oncoming demons until another five were added to the body pile that was growing in the barn.   
Crowley had to admit that watching Dean take care of the demons that Crowley himself was going to eliminate, as they had sided with Abaddon, was entertaining. Dean had become a powerful demon, one that could even possibly challenge Crowley in the future. Becoming a demon had allowed Dean to expel all his pent up frustrations, angers, and guilt that he had built up during his entire life of hunting, and it seemed as if that source was endless in supply. Once Dean got started, there was no end in sight. He had triple the strength and speed as any other demon and used that skill to his full capability and was, in other words, ruthless. Because of that, Crowley had wanted to make sure that Dean could control his demonic nature, to push it aside, to pretend that he was human, because if not, Dean would then have the power to overthrow Crowley’s position as King of Hell, which Crowley was never willing to give up.   
The next group of demons appeared as Dean was dunking a knife into another salt and holy water mixture. This time when Dean thrust his blade into the first demon Crowley was ready. He yelled out “Kevin” and this time evoked some emotion in Dean. Dean paused before the second demon and was thrown against the wall during his moment of hesitation. However, once Dean saw that the demon had the upper hand for the moment being, he shook his head and fought back, and soon that demon joined the others on the floor. There were only three demons left, and Crowley knew that if Dean didn’t take back control of the demon side of him then Crowley would be next on Dean’s hit list. Crowley decided to continue the pattern of names as Dean ran towards the next demon. This time Crowley was prepared as he calmly said “Sammy”. This time Dean stopped abruptly in his tracks, his eyebrows furrowed. Crowley held up his hands to the remaining demons, telling them to wait as Dean struggled. Dean blinked his eyes several times in a row, his eyes switching from green to black. Dean still moved towards the demons but slower now, just inches at a time. He shook his head continuously, and Crowley could see the internal struggle between the demon and human sides of Dean. Crowley just needed one more word to secure Dean and to secure his position as King of Hell. So, as Dean approached the still unmoving demon, Crowley said one name that seemed to reverberate against the walls. “Cass.” Dean dropped the knife.


	6. Mostly The Same Person

Crowley watched as Dean stared around the barn dazedly. His eyes had switched back to green when the knife hit the floor, as if the sound brought Dean back to reality. Dean, still trying to process everything, flicked his gaze between his bloody hands and the bodies that surrounded him. He shook his head again and again, not wanting to believe what he saw.   
“So. Sam and Cass. That’s what it takes for you to control yourself. Remember that,” Crowley said, and Dean’s head jerked up in his direction, almost forgetting that Crowley was in the room.   
Dean raised a hand to interrupt Crowley and stared daggers at him. “Just…just tell me how to zap myself home.”  
“What? I’d say that was a pretty successful lesson. You’re welcome, by the way,” Crowley responded.  
Dean took a threatening step forward. “I’m not sure if you heard me. Tell me how to get home.” Dean drew out each word slowly, his mouth forming a menacing snarl with each word.  
Crowley put his hands up in surrender. “Fine. See you around, Dean.” Crowley snapped his fingers and before Dean could focus on the sun rising through the slates of the barn, he saw the familiar surroundings of the Bunker.   
Dean was zapped right on the inside of the front entrance of the Bunker, a few feet away from the staircase. “Finally,” Dean grumbled and he headed off to take a shower before Sam noticed the blood and grime. That was, until, he hit yet another invisible parameter. “Damn it!” Dean shouted, forgetting that they had painted a demon trap underneath the front mat. There was no way Dean could hide himself from Sam now. Dean sighed and ran his hand down his face. He heard the shower starting and knew Sam must have returned from his daily morning run. Dean also knew that it would be at least fifteen minutes until Sam finished, so he had fifteen minutes to come up with an excuse for the bloody clothes that didn’t involve Dean slaughtering demons alongside Crowley.  
Dean still felt like his entire body was being controlled by the demon portion of him, but less now. He would never admit it to Crowley, but the so called lessons might have actually helped. Dean felt as if he had more control over that part of him, and hopefully could soon just push it back deep inside his body where other emotions lay where they would never emerge again. However, if Dean told Sam that he killed more than ten demons singlehandedly to learn control, Dean doubted Sam would believe that, since that seemed unbelievable to even himself.  
Dean glanced down at his clothes and felt the caked blood on his hands and face. A wave of hopelessness crashed over him. Dean half-laughed to himself. At least that’s a human emotion. If he had been completely human, as he should have been, Dean would have been feeling guilt for the demons that he just slaughtered. Granted, they were demons, and he always told Sam to kill anything with black eyes, but he outright massacred them, tortured them. Guilt should be eating away at his insides, but it wasn’t. That’s how Dean could tell that his humanity had not returned to him. At the time, the bloodbath caused excitement for Dean, provided him a sense of thrill. He still felt the remainders of that excitement as he stood here now, thinking about the amount of control he gained. Dean tried to avoid thinking about how Crowley had broken his mad rampage by using the two people who were closest to Dean: Sam and Cass. He remembered was wanting to bury the knife hilt deep in the demon’s chest until those names caused Dean to feel a sense of familiarity and love. He saw the demon again but this time just thought about what Sam and Cass’ reactions would be, and dropped the knife. He couldn’t let them down, not again. Dean had to prove to Sam and Cass that he was mostly the same person. He needed Sam to look at him the same way, and only time and control could do that, and when he calls Cass, he doesn’t need Cass to associate him with torture once again.   
“Dean?” Sam’s shaky voice echoed in the foyer of the bunker. He stood there with just a pair of jeans on, his hair still dark and flat against his head after the shower. The towel he was using to dry his hair had fallen out of his grasp and lay forgotten on the floor. From Sam’s position, he could only see Dean’s back, but that enough caused Sam to be weary and afraid.  
“Damn it,” Dean muttered under his breath, and turned slightly to completely face Sam.   
Sam opened his mouth slightly as he took in the sight of Dean’s ripped, bloody clothes and the now dried blood on his face and hands. Sam became rigid and gave Dean a sidelong glance. “What did you do?” Sam asked calmly, his face completely serious. He moved towards the table in the middle of the room to grab his shirt, but Dean saw Sam closely eye the gun that was underneath his plaid shirt.  
“Sammy, look-“ Dean started, but Sam cut him off.  
“Whose blood is it?” Sam questioned, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.  
“Some of it’s mine. The rest is some demons’,” Dean reluctantly answered, lowering his gaze, but only slightly.  
Sam’s serious expression finally broke and he placed his hands on top of his head and started pacing. “What…when…?” Sam was spitting out words, unable to form full sentences. If Dean hadn’t become a demon, Sam probably wouldn’t have really questioned it. Dean had considered himself the “dictator” and leader out of the two of them and therefore Sam mostly left him alone. However, now that Dean was no longer human, Sam saw himself taking leadership so that he could keep a watch over Dean, for both his protection and for the protection of others.  
Dean sighed. He didn’t have time to come up with an even half-decent excuse, so knew that he had to settle with telling Sam the truth. “Can you just let me out of this damn trap and we can sit down and talk about?”  
“No,” Sam said, “I can’t,” and Dean hadn’t realized the gun had been taken off the table until it was now being pointed at his face.


	7. Free

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed when he stared at the gun that was steady in Sam’s hands. He knew Sam was smart enough to realize that a gun had no effect on demons, and wondered if Sam just had a lapse in judgment and forgot Dean’s situation. However, Dean started to put the pieces together when he saw that there were bullets and a knife on a desk further back in the room, hastily covered by an attempt at Sam to keep them hidden. Bullets lying out beside a knife could only mean one thing; Sam carved demon traps into the bullets, as Henry Winchester had taught them, and that’s why Sam was pointing the gun at his head.  
“Woah, Sammy, okay,” Dean said cautiously, raising both his hands in surrender.  
“Then start talking,” Sam replied sternly, his index finger hovering dangerously over the gun’s trigger.  
“It was Crowley, man. He freakin’ summoned me. I had no choice,” Dean started, shaking his head. He watched Sam process what he just said and the gun lowered to being aimed at his chest now. Sam waved the gun as a signal for Dean to continue.  
“He summoned me to this place I don’t know where. And he said he could help me, Sammy. Help me control this… this thing inside me.”  
“And you believed Crowley?” Sam asked incredulously, finally deciding to speak up.  
“It’s not like I had a choice, dude. Demon traps actually do what their name says they do.” Dean actually felt like himself when talking to Sam, and took that as a good sign despite everything.  
“Then what about the blood?” Sam asked, gesturing the gun towards the front of Dean’s clothes.  
“Crowley summoned other demons too. The bottom of the barrel demons, apparently,” Dean started, and continued to describe to Sam the details of his early morning. Somewhere during the story, Sam had completely lowered the gun, having it hanging aimlessly in his right hand only. Dean tried to tell Sam everything, only leaving out the names that Crowley had called out, figuring that was the safest way to avoid a chick flick moment.   
Sam blinked several times and shook his head, not saying a word. He didn’t know how he should feel. On one side, his brother had gained a better sense of control and even seemed to act like himself, more than yesterday anyways. But on the other side, he just outright slaughtered demons. Sam and Dean usually never took a second thought about killing anything with black eyes, but for some reason, Sam felt different about Dean killing those demons. He hated to admit it, but when Sam first saw his brother by the door covered in blood, the first word that ran through his head was “monster”. He knew he had to change his thinking, and soon, or else this brotherly relationship would never survive. So, Sam nodded his head, and, looking down at the ground, said only one word: “Okay.”  
He walked up the stairs to where Dean stood in the demon trap and stared straight at Dean. Dean tilted his head questioningly and Sam nodded. Sam was okay with this. He had to be. Sam bent down, lifted up the mat, and scraped away some of the red paint with his knife. He stood back up, and Dean passed him, clapping him on his shoulder as he passed. The conversation was closed as far as Dean was concerned, but he thought that progress had been made, both with himself and with Sam, so he would leave it at that.  
Sam took a deep breath as Dean walked away. He could hear the shower starting and therefore knew he lost the opportunity to talk to Dean further. Sam did, however, start to gain back some hope that he had lost once he saw his brother’s black eyes, and he couldn’t ask for much more than that. However, Sam thought there was still one piece missing in the puzzle.  
Sam walked down the stairs and started pacing, never sure how to begin these calls. “Hey, uh, Castiel?” Sam stared at the ceiling, unsure of how to proceed. “We could really use your help down here. Dean’s alive, but he’s … different. It’s hard to explain. Just get here, okay?” Sam looked around, expecting to hear the rustle of Cass’ arrival. Nothing. Sam sighed and called his cell phone, but ended up just leaving the same message on his voicemail, assuming of course, that Cass knew had to check his voicemail. Sam ran his hands through his hair, knowing that it would be awhile before Cass would show up. Cass rarely appeared in response to Sam, so unless Dean called him, it would be at least a couple weeks.  
Sam walked over to one of the many bookshelves lining the walls of the Bunker and started running his fingers along the spines of the old books. Once he found one that seemed promising, Sam pulled up a chair and started immersing himself in the book, desperate to find anything that would be useful to help Dean.   
Meanwhile, Dean rested his hands on the bathroom sink. He had turned on the shower so Sam wouldn’t follow him and try to talk to him. Right now, he just needed time to think. Dean stared at himself in the mirror, watching as the steam slowly spread from the edges of the mirror to completely covering it. Dean dragged his right hand down the mirror, leaving behind an uneven streak where Dean could see his reflection. He moved his face closer to the mirror so that his nose was almost brushing against it. Dean stared into his reflection, focusing heavily on his green eyes. Dean stood like that for at least ten minutes, taking deep breaths, trying to keep his eyes green for as long as possible. It seemed stupid, but Dean wanted to make sure he had control over the little things first. After Dean decided that staring at his eyes was getting boring, and that Sam would probably be wondering what was taking him so long, he deemed his control and successful and tried something different. He willed his eyes to be black. He pressed his eyes shut, and opened them again. Still green. He pressed them shut again, longer this time, but once again, his eyes were still green when they reopened. On the third try, Dean shut his eyes again, but this time thought about the thrill he felt while killing the demons earlier. He thought about the adrenaline rush he had, the excitement of the blade piercing flesh, and the pure fact that he had lacked human emotions in that moment. Dean thought about how all his guilt had gone away, how his weaknesses seemed to evaporate. He had felt free. He opened his eyes. They were now black.


	8. Understanding and Acceptance

For the next week, things seemed to simmer down in the Bunker. To Dean’s surprise, not sleeping actually gave him an advantage. He started researching and reading books after books on anything that he thought might be useful, including the history of demons. Sam basically had Dean in house arrest, as every possible exit in the Bunker had been painted with a demon trap even before he had become a demon, and Sam refused to let him out of any one. Sam had also suggested that Dean lay off hunting for a short while, while they figured everything out. Dean obviously refused, but seeing that he had no actual way of getting out of the Bunker, unless he called Cass, which was still out of the question for right now, he had no real say in Sam’s decision. So, as Sam went in and out of the Bunker during the week, picking up cases in the area, Dean blew off the dust of the old books and looked for answers.   
“Hey, Dean,” Sam called out at the top of the stairs at the end of the week, “There’s been a couple deaths at this old church about six miles from here. Probably just an angry spirit or something. I’ll be back in a day.”   
Sam received no response as usual. He knew Dean was still mad at the fact that Sam wasn’t letting him hunt, but Sam needed to make sure that Dean was fully in control and that the Mark wouldn’t just take over and let him go on a killing spree. He glanced at Dean one more time, and seeing him hovered over a book for one of the few times in his life, nodded and left the Bunker, letting the slam of the door echo within its walls.  
Dean raised his head as soon as the door closed. He knew the case that Sam was heading to, as he had also been following the deaths, but just couldn’t do anything about it.   
“Useless,” Dean muttered, shutting his book with force. Dean looked at the table he was sitting at, surprised by just how many books surrounded him. Stacks covered the table and had spilled onto the floor. He didn’t even remember going through that many books, but without sleeping, the days just seemed to run together. Worse, all those books proved to be absolutely pointless. Dean couldn’t find anything remotely close to what had happened to him, and instead had just found information regarding the origin of demons or how to exorcise a demon possessing someone. The only way he knew to essentially cure a demon was what Sam had tried to do to Crowley, and Dean refused to have someone die for him, to die for a demon.  
After staring absently at the closed book in front of him, Dean pushed himself away from the table in frustration. Usually, this is where he would have gotten a beer or coffee, and it frustrated him even more that he didn’t crave them, he couldn’t crave them. Earlier in the week while Sam was out on a hunt, Dean had made himself a cheeseburger, hoping that even though he didn’t get hungry or want food, he would still be able to taste it and to appreciate it. However, he had been wrong. The burger had just been tasteless and bland, almost as if Dean was eating nothing. That was one of the few times where Dean hated the fact that he was a demon now. Sam’s initial reaction to Dean had been the worst by far, but the simple fact that he couldn’t appreciate food, couldn’t appreciate pie, made him finally come to the understanding and acceptance that as much as he tried, he was not the same person, nor could he act like he was.  
Dean wasn’t sure if he could keep pushing on like he was. He had accepted the fact that he couldn’t keep acting like his normal self, but he had not yet accepted the fact that he was a demon. Who could accept that? Dean was unsure of what to do, especially since he knew that he had his full of research for the time being. He rested his head in his hand, trying to come up with a plan, an idea, anything. However, no matter what he tried thinking about, Dean’s thoughts always led him to the same one solution: Castiel.  
Dean tried shaking that thought from his head. There was no way he was praying to Cass. There was just no way Dean could even begin to explain what had happened, and, to be honest, Dean was afraid that even if he did, Cass wouldn’t want to hear it. Besides, Dean often felt as if both he and Sam were burdening Castiel with their own problems, as if Cass didn’t have any of his own. And this time, this problem was a huge burden for everyone. Dean shook his head in attempt to get rid of those thoughts, and got up and started making his way back to his room.  
Dean had admired his room. It was the first time he actually had his own bedroom, but even that had become short-lived. Now, his room just seemed like a waste, as his bed had just become another useless, unused piece of furniture. This was actually the first time Dean had entered his room in about a week. It wasn’t like he needed anything in his room; he wasn’t hunting, so therefore his weapons stayed collecting dust on his walls, and Dean hadn’t needed to sleep. Dean also often forgot when a new day began or ended, and was usually only reminded that several days went by when Sam left out a pair of fresh clothes and a bar of soap on one stack of books as a hint that he hadn’t showered in those days. Now, Dean’s room just reminded him of the humanity that he once had, and now lost.   
Dean pushed aside some pillows and sat down on the corner of his bed, and finally, after Dean had been sitting there for more than several hours and with having come up with no other answer, he finally surrendered. He was going to call Cass.  
Dean wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans. He had prayed to Cass multiple times before, but this time it seemed daunting. “Cass? You got your ears on? I’m alive and -” Dean was interrupted by the sound of wings behind him. Dean turned around to see Cass, and his wrinkled trench coat and his crooked tie gave Dean a rush of familiarity. He finally raised his head to catch Cass’ stare, but he never got the chance, as Cass started screaming.


	9. No Cure

Dean quickly got up and ran to Cass, arms raised in surrender. “Woah, woah, Cass, it’s me.” Dean tried to hold on to Cass’ shoulders but Cass forcefully pushed Dean off, causing Dean to fall backwards. Cass pulled out his angel blade from underneath his trench coat and started towards Dean.  
“Get out of Dean,” Castiel said calmly but powerfully. Cass could see the demon’s hideous and grotesque face alternate with Dean’s vivid green eyes, making Cass feel as if he was experiencing whiplash.   
“Cass!”, Dean tried again, “I’m not being possessed! I’m – I’m one of them now.” Dean watched as Cass hand carrying the blade wavered slightly, but did not lower. “It was the Mark, I swear to you.”   
“You’re lying.” Cass stood strong and still. Dean’s words had made no visible effect on Cass so tried a different tactic instead. If Cass wouldn’t believe him, he would believe Sam.  
“Think of Sam’s prayers. And don’t tell me that he didn’t pray to you,” Dean commented when he saw Cass tilt his head.  
That made Cass start to lower the blade, and Dean knew it would. Sam always had more faith than Dean, so Dean knew that Sam would immediately turn to Cass for help. That’s what both of them always did. The angel blade was finally completely by Cass’ side. Dean didn’t know how many times Sam prayed to him, but it must have been a substantial amount.  
“You never answered him.” Dean didn’t pose it as a question.  
This time Cass actually looked guilty, but still glared hard at Dean. “Sam never said you had turned into a monster.”  
Dean froze for a second before getting back on his feet. He looked wounded but asked, “Can we talk about this, man?”  
Twenty minutes later, Dean and Cass had almost settled into the foyer of the Bunker. Dean was comfortably lounging in a chair with his feet on the table, feeling surprising confident despite Cass’ last remark. Cass, on the other hand, was sitting, but his back was completely straight and his hands were folded in his lap. When neither of them spoke, Dean finally decided to break the silence, taking his feet off the table.  
“Look, Cass,” Dean started, his confidence and relaxation that he had just felt slowly fading way, and Dean continued telling Cass everything, starting with Dean working with Crowley to Sam and Dean finding Metatron and eventually ending with Dean becoming a demon. During Dean’s story, Cass only shifted slightly when Dean was telling him what Metatron had said and how he killed Dean. “So we good?” Dean asked after pausing to let everything sink in with Cass.  
Cass tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. After some time, Cass responded, “We are good, Dean.”   
Dean smiled, let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and relaxed once again in his chair. “It’s really good to see you, man. So, what happened with all the heaven crap and stuff?”  
Now it was time for Castiel to tell his story and for Dean to listen. Castiel talked about his and Gadreel’s plan to enter heaven, how it turned out to be a trap, and finally how Cass tricked Metatron into revealing his true self on angel radio.   
Dean started laughing when he heard how Metatron met his downfall. “Nice one, Cass! At least that douchebag won’t be ruling heaven or anyone else for a long time.” Dean slapped his hand on the table in triumph and stood up with his arms spread out wide. “Alright. So you have your angel mojo back. Fix me.”  
Cass stood up too, but a look of confusion spread across his face. “I do not understand.”   
Dean started to become confused once Cass said that. “What do you mean? Do some magic or something,” Dean said, gesturing wildly. “Get this demon out of me.”  
“Dean” Cass started solemnly. He took a step towards Dean, making Dean become nervous. Before Dean could get a word out about a reminder about personal space, Cass spoke again. “You said yourself before. You are not possessed. This is something that I cannot fix. There is no cure.”  
Dean took several steps back away from Cass and shook his head repeatedly. “No!” Dean screamed and took a swipe at the books on the table, sending piles of them crashing to the floor. He walked closer to Cass, so close that their faces were almost touching. Dean spoke slowly but his words were filled with cruelty. “You are an angel. You heal people. So do your damn job.” And, with that, Dean turned and stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him.


	10. Nothing Else Mattered

Cass sighed heavily and sat back down in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. He knew it would be pointless to go after Dean, so he would just wait patiently until Dean reemerged.  
Meanwhile, Dean was pacing in his bedroom, clutching his forearm where he had been branded with the Mark. A hot, searing pain had ripped through Dean after he acted out towards Cass, and Dean tried to get a grip of himself. He knew he had better control of this violent and demon side of him, and, sure enough, Dean found himself breathing evenly once again, his mind completely clear and his body calm within just several minutes. Unfortunately, there was really nothing for Dean to do in his destroyed room, but knew that if he went back to researching, Cass would still be there. Dean decided he would just stay put, but the pure boredom of staring at a wall drove Dean to finally leave and go back to the foyer of the Bunker.   
Like Dean had predicted, Cass was sitting down at the table. He hadn’t even moved slightly since having sat down. Dean sighed and walked closer towards Cass, who didn’t even raise his head to look at Dean, but instead continued to stare straight ahead.  
“Look, Cass, about that -”, Dean started, but Cass cut him off.  
“It is fine, Dean. I’m sorry I can’t do anything. But I will keep trying.” And, with that, Cass vanished, leaving behind only a slight wind that rustled some papers on the table.  
“Damn it,” Dean swore, mentally cursing himself. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and sat down exactly where Cass had just been, and opened another book.  
The next several days were ordinary, and actually were considered normal in Dean’s mind. He spent his days researching nonstop, and would occasionally be joined by Cass who would pop in now and again, telling Dean of his most recent lead or a rumor he heard about how to cure him. However, none of Cass’ or Dean’s research has been fruitful, but still Dean enjoyed the company. Sometimes Dean would even allow themselves to take a break from studying and started introducing Cass to Game of Thrones, Star Wars, and Doctor Sexy M.D. It was much more entertaining to watch the shows with Cass now that he was ‘pop culture savvy’. However, it also meant that Cass knew the ending to every season of Game of Thrones so Dean could never be surprised. Cass would then make himself and Dean peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, as per Cass’ requests, and they would both laugh over the fact that they could eat them but couldn’t taste anything, as if that were the funniest thing in the world and as if nothing else mattered. These were the days Dean would remember and cherish the most. He finally felt as if he got his best friend back, and Cass would sometimes even forget that he was essentially watching TV with a demon. And when Cass would remember, he just pushed that thought off to the side because it was the first time in a long while that Dean seemed actually happy, and he was happy with him. Even Cass had to admit that Dean had taken what seemed like complete control over the Mark and his anger, and for the time being, everything seemed perfect. It was, in fact, until Dean decided to return Sam’s call that Sam had left saying that everything was fine. Dean had called several hours later, and no one picked up, despite having called all of Sam’s cell phones. And when Dean called a day later, the answering machine said that the number was disconnected. Sam never missed a call from Dean, so Dean eventually had to think the worst. Sam was in trouble.


	11. All a Lie

Dean swore as he hurried around the Bunker, throwing weapons and supplies into a duffle bag. He went over to the completely covered table and started tossing books left and right on the table, trying to find where he left the case material regarding where Sam was heading and what he was supposedly hunting. According to the reports, two people had died due to a freak accident where both the victims had seemingly been hit by a train, but had been nowhere near railroad tracks. Dean’s best bet was that it was a violent spirit, a ghost who killed anyone that reminded them of their own violent death. Sam had further researched and printed out an article from 1859 where a railway worker by the name of John Carraway was hit by an unscheduled train and was then dragged several hundred feet until eventually dying at approximately 2:45 in the morning. The description of the death in the police report matched the descriptions of the recent deaths in Smith Center, Kansas, only a few hours away from the Bunker, and the town where Sam should be.  
The first step Sam should have taken would be to see if the two victims, Joan Mercury, a woman in her mid-thirties, and Peter Daniels, a retired older man, were connected in any way to the railway worker. With that in mind, Dean scooped up the papers and police reports, checked to make sure he had grabbed iron, gasoline, and lighters, and went to the Bunker’s garage to pick out another car, seeing that Sam had taken the Impala. Dean called out to Cass only to discover that he had chosen that time to vanish, so Dean pulled out of the garage and started towards the highway by himself, turning the radio on and raising the volume as high as it could go in hopes that the music would drown out his impending thoughts.  
After taking one short detour in getting gas for the car that hadn’t been driven in a long time, Dean finally made it to Smith Center in two and a half hours, thanks to Dean’s fast driving. Dean quickly located the police station in town and used the building’s positioning to pick the motel that Sam most likely had chosen to stay in. Dean quickly swerved the car into one of the many open parking spaces outside of the Center Motel. As he walked towards the lobby, he felt his stomach sink as he noticed the familiar black shine of his Impala parked in the far lot near a tree. If all went well, Dean would just find Sam lying in his motel room, apologizing over the fact that his cell phones were malfunctioning and that everything was fine. However, the Winchesters never caught a break, so Dean knew that the parked car being there was a very bad omen.  
The door jingled as Dean swung it open and soon enough a man, whose hair was just starting to turn grey, came to the desk, wearing what looked like his pajamas. His hair was disheveled and there was bags around his eyes, and looked as if he had just woken up, despite it being only around six at night.  
“Can I help you?” The man groggily asked, slowly going over to sit on a stool that faced a computer on top of the desk.  
“As a matter of fact,” Dean started, reaching into his leather jacket to retrieve one of his badges, “You can.” He flashed his FBI badge and said, “I’m looking for a man who probably checked in three or four days ago. Tall guy, long hair, most likely paid cash. Ring a bell?”  
The man pressed a few buttons on the keyboard. “Try room 119. Last door on the left. He checked in under the name of Jimmy Page.”  
Dean recognized the alias and nodded. “I’m going to need to search the room, please.” As the sleep-deprived man just continued to sit and stare at Dean, he added a bit louder, “Immediately,” and a room key was handed over to him.  
Dean left the front desk and headed in the direction of the room. He knocked before entering, and when there was no response, reached behind to the waistband of his pants and grabbed his gun, cautiously looking around the hallway and raising it. Dean unlocked the door and barged in, doing a quick sweep around the room. When it was confirmed empty, Dean took a closer look. All of Sam’s clothes and research materials were still there, and there was a half-eaten salad on the table besides Sam’s laptop. Dean walked over to one of the beds where Sam had nicely laid out all the information that he had gathered within the few days. According to Sam’s quick notes jotted down in pencils in the margins of the news articles, Peter Daniels was related to Richard Daniels, who was accused in 1860 of being the driver of the train that had hit Carraway. However, according to that article that Sam had printed, Daniels was cleared of all charges. The connection between Joan Mercury and Carraway seemed to be a little more stretched, at least according to what Sam found out. Mercury was related to Carraway’s boss who had forced Carraway to stay late into the early hours of morning, just another incident that added to their apparent bad relationship, as Sam found out.  
From what Dean gathered after briefly skimming through all of the papers and connections that Sam had found, it was, as Dean had thought, a violent spirit who was killing people who reminded him of his death in the same way that he had died. Oddly enough, both the victims had died within two blocks of an abandoned railway station, where Carraway’s body was buried because his family could not afford to give him a proper burial. With that, Dean left the motel and drove the distance to the abandoned station, and just hoped that Sam was okay.  
When Dean pulled into the grassy area that used to be a parking lot, the sun was already starting to set. Dean would lose the advantage of daylight so he hurried up his pace as he grabbed his duffle bag and headed into the station. The station looked as if it had closed soon after the worker had died. The wooden planks creaked under Dean’s weight and the roof had mostly collapsed over the years so the fading daylight helped Dean navigate his way through the station. He tried calling Sam’s name, but heard nothing in response, just the wind shaking some old light fixtures and the occasional flap of bat wings. After maneuvering his way through fallen debris and litter, Dean heard a train whistle coming from one of the track entrances. He jogged over to Track 13 and moved swiftly down the stairs. There, ahead of him, was a figure seemingly sleeping on the abandoned, decrepit tracks. However, it wasn’t until Dean got closer that he realized that it was Sam, gagged and tied to the tracks below.  
“Sammy!” Dean screamed, jumping off the platform and down on the tracks. He ran over to his brother and started untying the ropes that were knotted around Sam’s hands. Dean had almost finished when Sam’s eyes suddenly got huge and tried to talk through the cloth stuffed in his mouth. Dean turned around only to be thrown back against the concrete wall beneath the platform. Sam struggled to try and finish removing the ropes as the ghost of the railway worker walked confidently towards the slumped body of Dean. With one last tug, Sam freed himself of his restraints and pulled the cloth away from his mouth.  
“Hey!” Sam shouted, distracting Carraway’s attention away from Dean. Sam tried to formulate a plan as the ghost now gained on him. He eyed Dean’s duffle bag and made a sudden move towards it. He pulled it over his shoulder and heaved himself over the platform’s ledge, but was pulled forcefully back by the ghost onto the tracks. The spirit loomed over him as Sam saw a sudden bright light from further up on the tracks. The spirit had started a train that hadn’t been used in a couple hundred years, and it was coming right at Sam.  
Suddenly, the ghost vanished as Dean, now conscious, sliced through the spirit with iron chains. Dean grabbed the fallen duffle bag and jumped up on the platform, pulling Sam up behind him, but not before Sam noticed Dean’s eyes flash to black, and the sudden anger Dean seemed to get.  
“Where are the bones?!” Dean yelled, whipping around quickly to face Sam. Sam was startled by Dean’s tone and for a minute was frightened of the blood thirsty look that flashed across Dean’s face.  
Sam pointed to a trash can that was propped up in the corner of the platform where he had previously piled up all the bones. He was about to burn them when the spirit had knocked him out and tied him to the tracks. Dean ran to the trash can, poured gasoline and salt on the bones, and engulfed them in flames. Sam watched as the railway worker, who had struggled to catch up with them, vanished in a fiery wave, and watched as the oncoming train suddenly stopped two inches from where Sam had just been. Sam’s chest heaved as the hunt was over, and followed Dean silently back to his car. As Dean dropped Sam off at his motel to pick up his things, and the Impala, Sam couldn’t forget the black that he had seen covering his brother’s eyes and that menacing look that Sam had hoped was gone forever. That was when Sam knew that this was all a lie. His brother had gotten better, had even gained control in the beginning, but now Sam saw the crack in Dean’s strength and control, and knew that it was all downhill from here.


	12. Full Control

Life started to quiet back down once Dean and Sam returned to the Bunker. Cass had zapped back just as they had returned and had tilted his head questioningly, asking in his deep voice, “What did I miss?”, in which Dean just rolled his eyes in response and headed to take a shower. Sam filled Cass in the best he could, and then he himself headed off to sleep.  
The next morning the feeling of unease that Sam had gotten during the previous day had vanished. Life in the Bunker continued on as usual. Sam went out on hunts, less frequently as per Dean’s request, and Dean had even stopped complaining that Sam wouldn’t let him accompany him. Dean had stopped asking to go with Sam, and eventually just took up his role as researcher as the days went by. Life continued like this for a couple weeks. It was after that second week when Cass first started to notice that something was off.  
Sam had just left for a hunt, this time out of state, and Cass had just appeared in the Bunker’s foyer, only to discover that, for the first time, Dean wasn’t at the tables researching. Deciding that maybe Dean took a break to watch TV or something, Cass walked around the Bunker, calling Dean’s name out repeatedly, but only to receive no answer. Dean wasn’t in the Bunker. Cass quickly pulled out the cell phone that the Winchesters had given him and dialed Sam’s number. Sam picked up on the second ring.  
“Cass? What’s up?” Sam asked loudly into the phone, trying to be heard over the roar of the Impala’s engine and the pouring rain.  
“Is Dean with you?” Cass asked with concern.  
“What? Why would he be? He’s at the Bunker. Look, Cass, just check there,” Sam started, but Cass quickly cut him off.  
“No, you do not understand. Dean is not in the Bunker.” Cass had started pacing while on the phone, and noticed that one the rugs by the front entrance had been moved slightly. He picked it up and saw that the Devil’s trap that had been underneath had been tampered with. Cass sighed. “The Devil’s trap by the front door is broken, Sam. We need to find him.”  
Sam groaned and ran a hand down his face. He was only ten miles from where the case he had been heading to was. But he still didn’t completely trust Dean after his lapse of control at the railway station, and therefore knew that Dean being alone outside of the Bunker could be more dangerous than his case. “I’m turning around now, Cass. See what you can find,” and Sam hung up. After dialing Garth to see if another hunter could be put on the case Sam was now abandoning, he made an illegal U-turn in the middle of traffic and started racing back towards the Bunker.  
Cass took Sam’s order literally, and started searching different places around the world, starting with local bars located near the Bunker, and then expanding his search when he still didn’t find Dean. Sam, after driving close to 85 miles an hour, finally made it to the Bunker. The tires of the Impala squealed as Sam pressed hard on the breaks to stop. He ran to unlock the door and saw briefly the overturned entrance mat as he stepped in the doorway. He ran down the stairs, taking two at a time, trying to think of where he last saw Dean. Sam headed towards the last table in the foyer, hoping to find something that would give a clue to where Dean had disappeared to, only to stop abruptly in his tracks. Dean was sitting in the exact same place where Sam last remembered him, hunched over some more books.  
Dean looked up as he heard Sam’s quick intake of breath. “Sammy? Killed that damn djin already?”  
Sam wasn’t sure how to respond. Had Cass been wrong? Deciding to play it safe, Sam answered, “Um..no. Garth had already called some hunters to go after it, so I decided to turn around.” Dean nodded and started to turn back to his research. Sam walked around to the other side of the table, trying to act normal. “So, have you’ve seen Cass today?” Sam asked, closely watching Dean’s face for any reaction to his question.  
“No, not today. Probably too busy with that heaven crap he’s dealing with. Been a pretty slow day,” Dean responded, relaxing back in his chair. Dean seemed as if he were telling the truth, so Sam was more confused than ever. He’d just wait until Cass came back to make sense of it all.  
Dean watched as Sam walked towards the kitchen. He could tell that Sammy had more questions to ask him, and Dean knew that it was probably with good reason this time. Dean had been fine all morning. He had showered, cleaned the kitchen, then started researching by mid-morning. However, Dean couldn’t remember anything else that had happened between then and when Sam came into the Bunker. It was all just gone. He knew something must have happened or else Sam wouldn’t have come back. There was no way Sam would let some other hunters that Garth sent, if he even sent any, to do the job without even helping them. He just hoped it was nothing bad. However, Dean had this growing feeling in the pit of his stomach as he remembered that Sam used to have parts of his days missing when Gadreel was possessing him. Dean quickly shook away that thought. Sam was possessed and was being controlled, I’m just a full-fledged monster from hell. And I have full control. However, as Dean thought that last part, he wondered if that was actually true anymore.


	13. The Calm Before the Storm

Dean had more and more days where his memories just seemed to be completely blacked out. He had asked Cass about it one day, asking him just to fill him in where his memories seemed to stop. Nothing that Cass said had seemed too dangerous. They still didn’t know where Dean had gone that one day where Cass couldn’t find him, but Cass filled him in on what Sam and Cass did know. So far, Dean didn’t have any recollection of shouting at Sam so long that Sam left for two days, throwing a table at Cass, or him trying to find a way to remove the rest of the demon traps, seeing that Sam had repainted the other one and Dean had to memory of how he was able to scratch the paint away in the first place. Although these were bad, Dean had to at least be thankful of the fact that he hadn’t attacked or killed anybody. However, Dean knew that it was only a matter of time.  
Dean started to see less of Sam as the days went by. He was always either claiming he was on a case or would shut himself up in his room, claiming he was researching. Dean knew that it was just plain and simple: Sam was avoiding and hiding from Dean. This hurt whatever human part was still left in Dean. His own brother wouldn’t even talk to him, let alone go near him. Cass, too, came to the Bunker less frequently. He stopped coming every day, and, in a good week, would show up for two days for only about an hour each time. Dean tried to do what he could to ease the tension between the three of them. He locked himself in his room at night so that hopefully Sam could at least sleep without worrying about Dean. However, Dean would sometimes find himself in a random hallway in the Bunker, dazed and unsure of how he got there, the last memory he had being locking his bedroom door. Pretty soon Dean’s lapse in memories became almost hourly. He barely remembered what he did for half the day, and stumbled around feeling lost and confused. Dean begged Sammy to handcuff one of his hands to the stairwell, allowing his other hand to flip through books or scroll on his laptop. Sam eventually agreed, and for two weeks, there were no more incidents. During those weeks, Sam had actually started to do his work on the tables in front of the stairwell. He started talking to Dean again normally, and Cass appeared every day. One day Sam even brought out the old Men of Letters’ projector and screen and set it up on the wall directly opposite of where Dean was handcuffed. Sam played whatever he found in the basement, and while they watched conferences and parties and all the other adventures of the Men of Letters, it seemed as if Team Free Will was back together. By the end of the two weeks, Sam had even ventured to uncuff Dean, letting him cook dinner for all of them. Sam had, of course, painted a Demon Trap in the kitchen, and had been the only one to eat the food, but nevertheless, it brought great joy to Dean to be able to move around freely, and to Sam, who thought his brother had finally returned to him. Those weeks, however, were the calm before the storm.  
Dean shook his head groggily, feeling as if he just woke up from a deep sleep. His head was pounding and there was a ringing in his ears. He tried to stand up but was forced back down by a metal clanging. Looking down, he saw shackles around his ankles, and he had metal chains wrapping around him and the chair. His hands were also cuffed to the table, and Dean could only move about an inch or two. He tried to figure out where he was, but could only see darkness surrounding him. The only thing that he could make out in the darkness was the bright red Demon Trap that had been painted on the low ceiling above Dean. Dean called out for Sam, and suddenly a sliver of light appeared in front of him, slowly stretching until light completely swallowed the room. Letting his eyes adjust, Dean could finally make out that he was in the Bunker’s dungeon, sitting exactly where he and Sam had kept Crowley. Castiel and Sam were standing directly in front of him, both in fighter’s stances. Dean knew he must have done something extremely terrible if Sam and Cass agreed to chain him here. However, Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what they had to say, so decided to just play it cool for the time being.  
“Did I miss a party or something? It must have gotten pretty kinky,” Dean said cheerfully, wiggling his eyebrows and rattling his chains.  
Sam and Cass moved closer towards Dean, and Dean could now make out the features on their faces. It also meant that Dean could see the dried blood that scattered Sam’s shirt and the gauze wrap covering his left shoulder. Cass’ trench coat was also torn in multiple places and both Sam and Cass had multiple bruises and various cuts on their face and hands.  
Dean now dropped the pretense. “Sammy, did I do that?” He asked coldly, his gaze lingering on Sam’s cut shoulder, where Dean could see the blood seeping through the white material that covered it.  
Sam nodded. “An assortment of kitchen knives. You banged me and Cass up pretty good. Too bad you have a crappy aim throwing,” Sam stated, pressing his hand against his wound, “It took a lot to knock you out and bring you down here.”  
Dean tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He reopened them and slammed his fists down on the table, the sound echoing throughout the room. Sam and Cass both reacted defensively, their hands not so subtly reaching towards a weapon.   
Dean attempted to raise his hands in surrender. “Sam….Cass, I – I’m sorry,” Dean started, unsure of how to begin. He had done what he had feared most. He had hurt the two people that he cared most about. Dean looked at Cass, who just stood there dejectedly. Cass, who had tried his hardest to find a solution, who had watched show after show with Dean, who had never stopped talking to him, never stopped helping him, had now seemed to have given up.  
“It’s okay, Dean.” Cass tried to reassure Dean, but Dean could hear the waver in his voice.  
“What’s happening to me?” Dean desperately asked, but the question just hung in the air unanswered.  
Sam slowly turned and walked away, and for a minute Dean thought that Sam was going to leave him. But instead, he walked back towards Dean and handed him an old, rusted mirror. Dean looked at Sam questioningly.   
“Check your eyes, Dean.” Sam told him coolly, backing away from the table.  
“What about them? I already know they sometimes switch from black to green,” Dean protested, but Sam interrupted him.  
“They don’t switch anymore. They’ve just been black for the last couple of days.”  
Dean could hear the fear in Sam’s voice as he raised the mirror to his face. Sure enough, staring back at Dean was the black eyes of the demon. Dean tried the exercise that he had accomplished before and closed his eyes shut. He thought of Sam and Cass and watching TV and cooking and everything else that he enjoyed in the Bunker. He reopened his eyes. They were still black. Dean had lost control.


	14. For Protection

Sam wished that he could say that things went back to normal in the Bunker. He wished he could say that he and Cass had unchained Dean and that Dean was his usual green-eyed self who cooked him dinner every night and who watched Games of Thrones with him. However, that was not the case. If anything, the situation got worse.  
Dean remained chained in the Bunker’s dungeon permanently. Sam and Cass would both visit him occasionally, but as the days went on, Dean acted less and less like himself. In the beginning, when Dean was first chained, Sam could have a more or less normal conversation with him. Sam and Cass would tell him about the most recent hunts and would go over any pertinent information they had gathered. New information, though, eventually stopped. The three of them were no closer to helping Dean or helping the situation in heaven. Cass had more or less abandoned heaven to live in the Bunker so he could watch over Dean daily, so the situation with heaven’s leadership became chaotic. However, Sam still tried to appreciate what they did have. Team Free Will was still together in one way or another, and, even though he couldn’t remember the last day his brother had green eyes, Dean was technically alive and safe. Sam tried to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but soon enough Sam couldn’t even talk with Dean anymore. After about a week of Dean being in the dungeon, Sam went down to visit, bringing some research books along with him. As soon as he saw Dean, Sam knew something was off. Dean had a menacing look on his face, and his mouth was turned up into a cruel smile.  
“Dean?” Sam called out nervously, all while trying to balance the books in his hands.  
“I’m right here, Sam.” Dean responded viciously, rattling his chains relentlessly.  
Sam hesitantly moved closer to the table, lowering the books onto it. He looked back up to Dean, a smirk plastered across his face.  
“Books aren’t going to help, you poor thing,” Dean sneered, “It’s too late for anything. I’m finally pure.” He sighed and sank back in his seat before speaking again. “And when I break free of these damn chains I am going to tear you apart piece by piece so that there will never be a shred of humanity left in me.” Dean moved forward suddenly in his chair and Sam flinched away, knocking the books off the table. Dean let out a hideous laugh as Sam walked out of the room, letting the darkness absorb Dean once again.   
Sam shuddered as he reached the stairwell and his back heaved as he let out a silent sob. Dean was no longer himself at all. For the first time since Dean was chained up, Sam felt hopeless. Sam shook his head. He couldn’t think like that. There had to be some part of humanity left within Dean. Sam just had to find it. He took a deep breath, walked up the stairs, and called out to Cass. Sam had to break the news to Cass of what just happened, or else Cass would be in for one hell of a surprise.  
The talk with Cass went about as well as Sam expected it to go. Sam tried to explain what had happened to him when he went to visit Dean about as calmly as he could, despite the fact that it was really eating him up inside. His voice cracked several times during his retelling, but it didn’t matter because Cass didn’t say anything. He just sat still, staring at Sam until he was done talking. Sam couldn’t even tell if Cass had even blinked. However, when Sam left, he could hear the distinct sound of Cass pounding his fist against the table and the cry that soon followed.  
Life, then, seemed to stop in the Bunker. Sam hadn’t seen Cass, or Dean for that matter, in a week. Cass had vanished soon after Sam told him of Dean’s threat, and Sam hadn’t ventured to the dungeon again. Sam felt as if were a machine, going through the everyday motions without ever actually processing or experiencing anything along the way. He woke up, ate, researched, ate, showered, drank, and went to sleep. Sam repeated this pattern for the whole week. He didn’t give himself anytime to think about Dean in the dungeon. He even stopped thinking of Dean as Dean. Sam often in his mind referred to him as the monster chained up, as he had lost his actual brother the day Metatron stabbed him. These thoughts didn’t linger in Sam’s mind, however, because Sam just pushed them aside and followed his daily routine as usual. He was just finishing up his shot of whiskey, ready to sleep, when he heard a scream from somewhere within the Bunker. Immediately Sam grabbed his gun from his waistband and patted his pocket to make sure he had Ruby’s knife stored safely. When everything was in check, Sam ran towards the dungeon for the first time in a week, sure that the scream must have been at the hands of the monster.  
Sure enough, when Sam came running down the stairs, he saw the monster that had taken over his brother’s body holding the First Blade, free from his confines. Sam was still unsure of where the scream had come from until he looked towards the ground, where Cass was limply lying.  
“Cass?” Sam ran over and bent down to where Cass was lying. Luckily, Cass only seemed to be bruised and Sam helped him sit up.  
“I was trying to see -” Cass gasped, clutching his most likely bruised ribs, “-see if I could get through to him.”  
“Didn’t work so well for him,” Dean grinned, the First Blade swinging around in his hand.  
Sam stood up and faced Dean. It was his turn to try. He was the only person who could reach Dean, if anyone could, for that matter. “Dean, listen,” Sam started, nervously inching closer towards his brother. “It’s me. Sammy. I know you’re still you somewhere in there. Your humanity is still there. Just look!” Sam pleaded, tears starting to form in his eyes.  
For a minute Sam thought that he had got through to Dean as Dean stopped pacing and the Blade was just held limp by his side. However, that moment passed as Dean smiled mischievously and raised his fist. “There’s nothing in me but freedom! Any remaining emotions or connections with humanity will end now!,” Dean yelled, and punched Sam hard in the face.  
Sam let out a grunt and fell to his knees. His gun was knocked out of his hands and he fumbled to try to grab Ruby’s knife. Sam was too slow, however, and Dean had the opportunity to throw several more forceful punches in Sam’s direction. Sam could taste the warm blood that was running from his nose and his mouth. His hair started to become plastered to his head with sticky crimson as Dean threw swing after swing. Meanwhile, Cass had slowly risen from the ground, pulling out his angel blade in the process. Dean noticed, and in one quick flick of his hand, Cass was thrown back against the wall, the angel blade hitting the floor several dozen feet away from either Cass or Sam.   
Sam wouldn’t give up. He managed to grab Dean’s wrist as he went in for another punch and held on tight. “Dean!”, Sam tried again, “Look around. Look at what you’re doing. To Cass. To me. To your family.” Tears were now streaming down Sam’s face uncontrollably. He tried to utter another word but collapsed at the exact moment that Cass rushed over to Sam’s side.  
Dean hadn’t moved. He was glancing between Cass and Sam, his eyes squinting in confusion. Cass helped Sam get to his feet, both of them barely able to stand. Cass stepped forward towards Dean. “Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, is still there. You once told me that we were family. That you needed me.” Cass moved closer, his fingers reaching out towards Dean’s. “But it was me who needed you. Dean, I-” but Cass never got to finish his sentence as Dean plunged the First Blade into Cass’ body. Cass let out a scream and fell lifelessly to the ground. Sam finally retrieved Ruby’s knife and held it out while bending over Cass. The cut was deep and ran through Cass’ chest, but even now Sam could see Cass using most of the remainders of his grace to heal it the best that he could.  
Sam looked up towards Dean. In this moment, Sam knew that he could never abandoned Dean. He was his brother, no matter what Sam had thought before. “You’re still my big brother, Dean. I looked up to you. Me and Cass both looked up to you. You’re our hero.” Sam, after propping Cass up against the far wall, stood facing Dean. “I won’t kill you. I can’t.” And with that, Sam dropped Ruby’s knife, the clatter echoing throughout the dimly lit walls. Dean slowly bent down, dropped the First Blade, and picked up the knife instead, and Sam sighed in resignation, knowing his death was inevitable. As a final attempt, Sam stuck a hand in his pocket and forced its contents into Dean’s other hand. Dean opened his fist and a necklace stared back at him. The necklace Sam had given Dean on Christmas so many years ago. The necklace Dean had thrown away. He glanced up at Sam. “For protection,” Sam managed to say, a sad smile on his face. Dean stared at the necklace for what seemed like hours. His body started shaking involuntarily and Sam cried out towards him. Dean shook his head, blinked, and looked up towards his brother, this time his eyes green.   
“Sammy?” Dean croaked, a single tear running down his face.  
Sam let out a cry of relief at the sound of his nickname. “Dean.”  
Dean looked around at the blood stained First Blade that lay abandoned at his feet, at Cass who was breathing heavily, barely conscious against the wall, at Sam, who could barely stand straight and was bleeding heavily, all because of him. Dean clasped Sam’s shoulder, and looked him straight in the eyes. “Remember me as I was, not of what I became. And remember, I’m proud of us.” And before Sam could say anything, Dean raised his hand that held Ruby’s knife, and plunged it into his chest. And Sam had once again, lost his brother. This time, for good.


End file.
